"Memento"
Note :: This story combines 6 prompts into a single story as a way of catching up on my licenseartistic prompts. The prompts used are as follows ::
(02-18-03)
I don't even need the calendar to know that it's time for Spring Cleaning. Technically, I shouldn't need to do this at all. After all, we've only been here in Las Vegas for two months now, and we haven't accumulated that much extra stuff, even with Christmas having come and gone. But tradition is tradition, and both of our girls are going through a growth spurt right now.
Gramma Rose always taught Tanya and me that everything has its purpose and its place, and eventually everything outlives its usefulness to us. We would clean that house from top to bottom, inside and out, and every single thing we found would be scrutinized carefully. I don't know if Tanya follows that ritual anymore, but she never did have much faith in Gramma Rose's ways.
Digging around in the storage unit attached to our bungalow, I find a box with my name on it that I don't recognize. Closer inspection shows that it's written in Tanya's handwriting. How in the hell this got into my stuff without my knowledge is a mystery; I'll have to ask Rachel if she knows anything about it later. But for now, I'll see what it is.
Opening the box, I find a treasure trove of memories contained within its sturdy cardboard walls. Cleaning can wait for a little longer; right now, I'd rather see what Tanya's left me in that box. The first thing that catches my eye is a photograph I didn't even know was ever taken. It was not long after Mama and Daddy died, after we'd gone to live with Gramma Rose.
The weather is unseasonably warm for late January. Gramma Rose's house in the Bayou is quieter than the house in New Orleans. And yet, there are sounds out here that frighten me. I'm not used to the sounds of the frogs and the little predators that scuttle through the undergrowth. But Gramma Rose makes sure to take me and Tanya out to explore our new home. Tanya's been sassing back to Gramma Rose, but she's not getting punished. Gramma Rose says it's because everyone handles grief in their own way and their own time.
One afternoon, Tanya is feeling particularly mean to me, and Gramma Rose raises her voice in anger for the first of very few times in my entire life. She throws me and Tanya out of the house and tells us to go find mushrooms for dinner. What we don't know until much later is that she's following us, keeping an eye on us, keeping us safe.
Stroking the faces on the picture, I can remember Tanya breaking down into tears after tripping over something on the ground. I thought it was because she'd hurt herself, but she kept calling for Mama and Daddy to come back from Heaven and take us with them. Without thought, I'd taken her in my arms and just rocked her back and forth while she cried, just like Mama had done. That must have been when Gramma Rose took this picture, before she came to gather us up into her arms and take over the comforting.
Sighing softly, I press a light kiss to the face of little Tanya before putting the picture back into the box. I never should have let our estrangement get as bad as it's become, but I can only do so much against her stubbornness. With a shake of my head, I sift through the box again and laugh self-consciously as I find an old notebook I'd carried around in my early teens. Flipping through its pages, I find old poems and love letters that I hope never see the light of day again. One line sticks out at me, probably because I used it so often for many months there.
I journey through the desert of the mind
Oh dear God, what was I thinking? Did I really moon over my crushes that badly? How on earth did Gramma Rose and Tanya put up with me? Glancing around to see if either Rachel or Kat are around, I stuff the notebook back into the bottom of the box, purposely burying it under everything else. Thankfully, they're otherwise occupied in the house, and I'm safe from embarrassment for the time being. This rearranging of the box brings up a little plastic snowglobe of the French Quarter. That summer was one of the hottest on record, and muggier than all get out, but it didn't matter to me. I was able to go on a trip with my friends Jane and Sarah to New Orleans for some talent thing or another that Jane's older sister was in. We were chaperoned by Jane's parents, of course, but we were treated like little adults. It was wonderful!
"Alex, you can't be serious, child!"
"But I am, Gramma Rose," I reply, stamping my foot for emphasis. "I want to go to the French Quarter with my friends. You let Tanya go last month with her friends. I'm getting too old to be treated like a baby all the time."
Gramma Rose stares at me for a couple of minutes, but I refuse to back down. I'm fourteen years old and I want to be treated like the woman I'm becoming. Tanya snickers softly from her seat at the table. I hate that she's the older sister and can do so much more than I can.
"Alex, you've always been such a good girl--"
"And I never ask for things like Tanya does."
She scowls, the frown lines between her eyebrows getting deeper. She turns back to the gumbo she's been making, stirring silently for several moments. I want to shake her, force her for an answer, but I'm not that reckless. Finally she turns to face me once again.
"All right, Alex, you can go. But you be on your best behavior or I'll never agree to something like this again."
Chuckling at my audacity, I shake the globe and watch the fake snow fall over the gaudy purples and greens of the French Quarter representation. Resisting the urge to do it again, I set it back in the box and search for something else to pique my interest. A flash of muted color and a crinkle brings back another memory. My best friend Jane had gone to Maine for her great-grandfather's funeral in October of our sophomore year in high school.
"I was so bored, Alex," Jane whines, flopping back onto my bed dramatically. "I never even met my great-granddad, so it's not like I could feel bad about him dying. But my father swore we had to go because it was the right thing to do for the family."
I can feel the skin furrowing on my forehead as I frown in confusion. "Wait! Didn't you say that your father hadn't had any contact with his family since before your sister was born? Because they didn't care for your mother?"
She nods and runs a hand through her hair. "You got it. But it didn't matter to Dad; he had to go and make an appearance, and that meant dragging us along with him. I hated the funeral and the wake, having to deal with all these strangers touching and hugging me like we were lifelong best friends or something." She sighs, then sits up suddenly and rummages through her book bag. "I brought you something."
"A present?"
Grinning broadly, she flourishes a book from her bag. Closer inspection shows that it's our history book.
"You brought me your history book? Gee, thanks, Jane."
"No! No! No!" she says with a giggle and takes it back. "I brought you this." She pulls out a folded sheet of loose leaf paper and hands it to me carefully. "I saw the color and knew you'd love it."
Taking the proffered item, I unfold the paper to find a beautiful red leaf inside. "Oh, Jane, this is beautiful!" I murmur reverently. "I'm going to press it and keep it forever. Thank you!"
And there it is, still sealed in its wax paper covering, almost the same lovely shade as the day she gave it to me all those years ago. I really should try to get in touch with Jane and Sarah again. It's been ages since I last spoke with them. Shifting slightly, I feel a Charlie horse coming on in my left calf before it actually happens. Obviously, I've spent enough time in this position already. Standing carefully, I do my best to stretch out my calf muscles so that I don't limp too badly in the aftermath of said Charlie horse, and I realize that I haven't eaten in several hours.
Heading slowly into the house, I'm startled to see how clean everything is. Not that we have a messy house, of course, but having a toddler about definitely can turn order into chaos quite quickly if we're not careful. And speaking of said toddler, I can hear her telling stories to her sister in that amusing little singsong voice of hers.
"An' da horsie runned 'way from da doggie cuz it was hun'ry an' horsies don' like bein' eated by doggies."
I can barely decipher her words, she's so excited in her story, and she can't seem to stop from repeating herself a couple of times before Kat finally acknowledges her and makes her giggle over something else.
"Someone's been a dirty girl today." The soft words come from behind me, wrapping themselves around my soul before oozing down to settle in the pit of my stomach. "Have you been naughty, too?"
"Not yet," is my equally husky reply. "But maybe later tonight…"
Rachel chuckles and swats my ass. "You propose a tempting offer, my love, but I don't do that with women who are covered in dirt and cobwebs. Go shower while I finish up lunch. I've got something special just for you."
Curious, I try to peer past her toward the kitchen, but that damned wall gets in my way. "What is it?"
"You'll find out after your shower, Miss Nosy Pants, and not a minute sooner."
Rachel removes the faint sting of her words with a heady kiss that soon has me nearly ready to forget my own name if it means I can have more kisses like that one. Whimpering softly, I pull her closer, but she dances away like the damnable temptress she is.
"Rachel!"
"Shower first, then food, and if we can get Rose down for a nap, we'll take a nap of our own," she replies, waggling her eyebrows.
That's enough to get me running into the bathroom to shower. I want to take a quick shower, but the hot water feels heavenly and I get caught up in the warming sensations. Just as the water is starting to turn chilly, the most heavenly scent wafts into the bathroom, and it's enough to get me to turn the water off. I stand there for a moment or two, just inhaling that lovely aroma before I finally towel off and slip into clean sweats and a t-shirt.
Padding out into the main part of the house, I am greeted by the sight of our daughters sitting at the dining room table. Rachel comes out of the kitchen, carrying a breadboard with the object of my drooling: a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread. There's still steam coming off the loaf.
"Oh, Rachel, you're far too good to me," I mutter as she offers me the heel, slathered in butter.
"I'll be even better later on," she murmurs in my ear before nipping the lobe mischievously.
Oh, I can't wait!
- July 2010 prompt :: Walk
- August 2010 prompt :: No One Knows - Queens of the Stone Age [The line of poetry is actually part of the lyrics from this song.]
- September 2010 prompt :: Summer Vacation
- October 2010 prompt :: Leaves
- November 2010 prompt :: Babble
- December 2010 prompt :: Bread [taken from May 2010 prompts]
(02-18-03)
I don't even need the calendar to know that it's time for Spring Cleaning. Technically, I shouldn't need to do this at all. After all, we've only been here in Las Vegas for two months now, and we haven't accumulated that much extra stuff, even with Christmas having come and gone. But tradition is tradition, and both of our girls are going through a growth spurt right now.
Gramma Rose always taught Tanya and me that everything has its purpose and its place, and eventually everything outlives its usefulness to us. We would clean that house from top to bottom, inside and out, and every single thing we found would be scrutinized carefully. I don't know if Tanya follows that ritual anymore, but she never did have much faith in Gramma Rose's ways.
Digging around in the storage unit attached to our bungalow, I find a box with my name on it that I don't recognize. Closer inspection shows that it's written in Tanya's handwriting. How in the hell this got into my stuff without my knowledge is a mystery; I'll have to ask Rachel if she knows anything about it later. But for now, I'll see what it is.
Opening the box, I find a treasure trove of memories contained within its sturdy cardboard walls. Cleaning can wait for a little longer; right now, I'd rather see what Tanya's left me in that box. The first thing that catches my eye is a photograph I didn't even know was ever taken. It was not long after Mama and Daddy died, after we'd gone to live with Gramma Rose.
The weather is unseasonably warm for late January. Gramma Rose's house in the Bayou is quieter than the house in New Orleans. And yet, there are sounds out here that frighten me. I'm not used to the sounds of the frogs and the little predators that scuttle through the undergrowth. But Gramma Rose makes sure to take me and Tanya out to explore our new home. Tanya's been sassing back to Gramma Rose, but she's not getting punished. Gramma Rose says it's because everyone handles grief in their own way and their own time.
One afternoon, Tanya is feeling particularly mean to me, and Gramma Rose raises her voice in anger for the first of very few times in my entire life. She throws me and Tanya out of the house and tells us to go find mushrooms for dinner. What we don't know until much later is that she's following us, keeping an eye on us, keeping us safe.
Stroking the faces on the picture, I can remember Tanya breaking down into tears after tripping over something on the ground. I thought it was because she'd hurt herself, but she kept calling for Mama and Daddy to come back from Heaven and take us with them. Without thought, I'd taken her in my arms and just rocked her back and forth while she cried, just like Mama had done. That must have been when Gramma Rose took this picture, before she came to gather us up into her arms and take over the comforting.
Sighing softly, I press a light kiss to the face of little Tanya before putting the picture back into the box. I never should have let our estrangement get as bad as it's become, but I can only do so much against her stubbornness. With a shake of my head, I sift through the box again and laugh self-consciously as I find an old notebook I'd carried around in my early teens. Flipping through its pages, I find old poems and love letters that I hope never see the light of day again. One line sticks out at me, probably because I used it so often for many months there.
I journey through the desert of the mind
Oh dear God, what was I thinking? Did I really moon over my crushes that badly? How on earth did Gramma Rose and Tanya put up with me? Glancing around to see if either Rachel or Kat are around, I stuff the notebook back into the bottom of the box, purposely burying it under everything else. Thankfully, they're otherwise occupied in the house, and I'm safe from embarrassment for the time being. This rearranging of the box brings up a little plastic snowglobe of the French Quarter. That summer was one of the hottest on record, and muggier than all get out, but it didn't matter to me. I was able to go on a trip with my friends Jane and Sarah to New Orleans for some talent thing or another that Jane's older sister was in. We were chaperoned by Jane's parents, of course, but we were treated like little adults. It was wonderful!
"Alex, you can't be serious, child!"
"But I am, Gramma Rose," I reply, stamping my foot for emphasis. "I want to go to the French Quarter with my friends. You let Tanya go last month with her friends. I'm getting too old to be treated like a baby all the time."
Gramma Rose stares at me for a couple of minutes, but I refuse to back down. I'm fourteen years old and I want to be treated like the woman I'm becoming. Tanya snickers softly from her seat at the table. I hate that she's the older sister and can do so much more than I can.
"Alex, you've always been such a good girl--"
"And I never ask for things like Tanya does."
She scowls, the frown lines between her eyebrows getting deeper. She turns back to the gumbo she's been making, stirring silently for several moments. I want to shake her, force her for an answer, but I'm not that reckless. Finally she turns to face me once again.
"All right, Alex, you can go. But you be on your best behavior or I'll never agree to something like this again."
Chuckling at my audacity, I shake the globe and watch the fake snow fall over the gaudy purples and greens of the French Quarter representation. Resisting the urge to do it again, I set it back in the box and search for something else to pique my interest. A flash of muted color and a crinkle brings back another memory. My best friend Jane had gone to Maine for her great-grandfather's funeral in October of our sophomore year in high school.
"I was so bored, Alex," Jane whines, flopping back onto my bed dramatically. "I never even met my great-granddad, so it's not like I could feel bad about him dying. But my father swore we had to go because it was the right thing to do for the family."
I can feel the skin furrowing on my forehead as I frown in confusion. "Wait! Didn't you say that your father hadn't had any contact with his family since before your sister was born? Because they didn't care for your mother?"
She nods and runs a hand through her hair. "You got it. But it didn't matter to Dad; he had to go and make an appearance, and that meant dragging us along with him. I hated the funeral and the wake, having to deal with all these strangers touching and hugging me like we were lifelong best friends or something." She sighs, then sits up suddenly and rummages through her book bag. "I brought you something."
"A present?"
Grinning broadly, she flourishes a book from her bag. Closer inspection shows that it's our history book.
"You brought me your history book? Gee, thanks, Jane."
"No! No! No!" she says with a giggle and takes it back. "I brought you this." She pulls out a folded sheet of loose leaf paper and hands it to me carefully. "I saw the color and knew you'd love it."
Taking the proffered item, I unfold the paper to find a beautiful red leaf inside. "Oh, Jane, this is beautiful!" I murmur reverently. "I'm going to press it and keep it forever. Thank you!"
And there it is, still sealed in its wax paper covering, almost the same lovely shade as the day she gave it to me all those years ago. I really should try to get in touch with Jane and Sarah again. It's been ages since I last spoke with them. Shifting slightly, I feel a Charlie horse coming on in my left calf before it actually happens. Obviously, I've spent enough time in this position already. Standing carefully, I do my best to stretch out my calf muscles so that I don't limp too badly in the aftermath of said Charlie horse, and I realize that I haven't eaten in several hours.
Heading slowly into the house, I'm startled to see how clean everything is. Not that we have a messy house, of course, but having a toddler about definitely can turn order into chaos quite quickly if we're not careful. And speaking of said toddler, I can hear her telling stories to her sister in that amusing little singsong voice of hers.
"An' da horsie runned 'way from da doggie cuz it was hun'ry an' horsies don' like bein' eated by doggies."
I can barely decipher her words, she's so excited in her story, and she can't seem to stop from repeating herself a couple of times before Kat finally acknowledges her and makes her giggle over something else.
"Someone's been a dirty girl today." The soft words come from behind me, wrapping themselves around my soul before oozing down to settle in the pit of my stomach. "Have you been naughty, too?"
"Not yet," is my equally husky reply. "But maybe later tonight…"
Rachel chuckles and swats my ass. "You propose a tempting offer, my love, but I don't do that with women who are covered in dirt and cobwebs. Go shower while I finish up lunch. I've got something special just for you."
Curious, I try to peer past her toward the kitchen, but that damned wall gets in my way. "What is it?"
"You'll find out after your shower, Miss Nosy Pants, and not a minute sooner."
Rachel removes the faint sting of her words with a heady kiss that soon has me nearly ready to forget my own name if it means I can have more kisses like that one. Whimpering softly, I pull her closer, but she dances away like the damnable temptress she is.
"Rachel!"
"Shower first, then food, and if we can get Rose down for a nap, we'll take a nap of our own," she replies, waggling her eyebrows.
That's enough to get me running into the bathroom to shower. I want to take a quick shower, but the hot water feels heavenly and I get caught up in the warming sensations. Just as the water is starting to turn chilly, the most heavenly scent wafts into the bathroom, and it's enough to get me to turn the water off. I stand there for a moment or two, just inhaling that lovely aroma before I finally towel off and slip into clean sweats and a t-shirt.
Padding out into the main part of the house, I am greeted by the sight of our daughters sitting at the dining room table. Rachel comes out of the kitchen, carrying a breadboard with the object of my drooling: a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread. There's still steam coming off the loaf.
"Oh, Rachel, you're far too good to me," I mutter as she offers me the heel, slathered in butter.
"I'll be even better later on," she murmurs in my ear before nipping the lobe mischievously.
Oh, I can't wait!